


Breaking Protocol

by myn_x



Series: Daichi Rarepair Week Feb. 11-17 2017 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Assassin AU, Assassin!Daichi, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Gym Coach!Bokuto, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myn_x/pseuds/myn_x
Summary: This is for Day One ofDaichi Rarepair Week, which was on Feb. 11Prompt:Seasons/ Injury /Same team AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Section VII is (borderline) explicit, so proceed with caution. Mentions of sex in other sections as well.
> 
> *
> 
> Not only do I have ridiculously poor time management skills, but this also got wayyyyyyy out of hand, hence my hella lateness >:3c
> 
> Big ups to my best dude abby for walking me through this. Where would I be without you ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` ) ❤❤❤❤

I

 

He takes five steps instead of four, hoping to catch his target off guard, and rounds the corner with his back pressed to the wall. But this is far from another easy kill. There are more of them in the room than he was expecting and he’s stepped right into their trap.

He could take some of them out, he’s aware of that, but the chances of coming out of this alive have already dropped abysmally. These odds are not fit for a solo mission.

That’s when he thinks of Bokuto, golden-eyed and fierce, and the quiet way he said, “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much,” as if he saw his future reflected in his eyes as they kissed goodbye. But neither of them could have possibly known that several hours later Daichi would be staring death in the face.

In the pause he takes to remember the plushness of his lips (it’s the last time he’ll ever get to feel them) he falls behind a tempo, for they’re already rushing him. He sidesteps the first few, managing to swipe his knife at their faces, but there are just too many.

He settles into a low, defensive stance and falls back but they keep coming, and he raises his gun to fire a few shots at his assailants (none of whom, he confirms, are the target) before backpedalling through a glass wall, and then he’s falling.

After an infinity he lands in snow, and it hurts, it hurts so much, knowing just how much he’ll be missed.

 

II

 

Daichi opens his eyes and the pain makes it easy to figure out he’s on someone’s back; with each of the person’s steps he nearly gasps. His injuries bring everything into sharp focus -- he can tell his ankle is twisted and his ribs are fucked and it feels like a chunk of his right arm is missing.

“You got off lightly, I’d say,” the person growls. It takes him a second to place the voice; it’s been too long since they’d been on assignment together. The almost purposeful jostling makes sense when Daichi realizes his savior is Kuroo. “What the fuck were you doing?”

Daichi groans. “Bad intel.”

“Bad intel doesn’t get you almost killed, Daichi.” Kuroo hikes him up, and Daichi hisses a curse. “For you of all people… fuck. What happened back there?”

When Daichi doesn’t respond, Kuroo presses on. “You’re one of the top agents, Ukai’s favorite and most trusted, He-Who-Never-Fails-A-Mission, so don’t blame it on shitty intel. If you realized the intel was no good why didn’t you get the hell out?”

“Either we were -- ugh, can you maybe be a little gentler?” Daichi barks. His chest is burning, where his lower left ribs are, and he suspects that’s where he landed. The bruised area rubs against Kuroo’s back as he sets a brusque pace through a vaguely familiar alley.

Kuroo makes a little, irritated sound in his throat. “I don’t really think you’ve earned any gentleness from me, trying to get yourself killed like that.”

“For the love of -- I wasn’t trying to get myself killed. We were either purposefully fed false information or we’ve got a turncoat. Or both.”

“You don’t get to make accusations right now.” Kuroo’s words are clipped, but they soften, and his hold on Daichi’s thighs become less vice-like. “Did you at least get the target?”

“The target wasn’t there.”

“Damn it. When did you press your panic button?”

“I -- I don’t remember.”

“Alright, well, we’re almost there.” Kuroo squeezes Daichi gently, and Daichi realizes his initial anger stems from worry, an old habit. It had been years since they’d been partners and Kuroo had requested a transfer -- to contingency. They’d grown used to watching over each other even after they split, and Daichi would never admit it but he did check Kuroo’s status once in a blue moon, if only to make sure he was still with the corps.  

If Kuroo, who supposedly hated him, is this concerned about him (Daichi suspects that he requested to do this sweep), Daichi can only imagine what his state will do to the one waiting for him at home. He cringes away from the thought, which brings with it an unbearably crushing guilt.

Kuroo stops before a red door with a black feather stamped on it. He’s seen it a few times before...when he had a few bumps and scrapes. This is Suga’s base of operation. Which makes sense, since going to a hospital would be too much of a hassle.

After Kuroo shifts Daichi’s weight to one side, he raps on the door twice, waits, then twice more, and it swings inward. A warm bright smile greets them. “Mmm...and what has the cat dragged in today?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of that joke, Koushi?” Kuroo’s all simpering warmth now, and Daichi faces his second surprise of the night.

Suga laughs and beckons Kuroo in, nodding his head at Daichi in silent acknowledgment.

Fifteen minutes later, Kuroo is sipping tea at the dining table and Daichi is lying on Suga’s couch/ informal examination table, painkillers swallowed, ankle wrapped with ice and propped up, chest bound under another ice pack. His suit is shredded where a bullet must have grazed his arm -- he’ll have to visit Kiyoko soon to see about a repair or replacement -- and there’s too much blood, both dried and still flowing, for a “cut so superficial,” Suga had chided.

Suga has patched him up before but Daichi’s never felt this broken; as Suga tweezes shrapnel and tiny bits of glass from his arm, Daichi wonders at the irony of his chosen profession. He has to clench his jaw to keep from crying out, and he fists his hands at his sides to keep from moving. Daichi’s pretty good at the art of killing, but tolerating pain is not his forte.

Suga, for his part, is doing a nearly perfect job of keeping his wicked grin hidden.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Suga asks in a sing-song voice. He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead hitting Daichi where he’s most vulnerable with the usual, “You’re lying to him and yourself, and you need to quit it, or quit this job.”

Daichi nearly sits up, but he’d rather not risk any more pain. Instead of throttling Suga, who _is_ holding a pair of deceptively sharp tweezers, he turns to pin him with a glare. “I didn’t ask for a lecture with my treatment, and as a matter of fact, I didn’t ask to be brought here at all.”

He knows he’s being childish, but Suga doesn’t understand. Whatever he has going on with Kuroo, there’s no need for secrecy because Suga works for the corps. He learned medicine from a cousin and does the necessary patch-ups for agents like Daichi who can’t be bothered with a hospital. There’s nothing that needs to be hidden between him and Kuroo, not like how Daichi has to hide things from Bokuto.

Not only because he’s forbidden from telling the truth, but also to protect him from the enemies he’d naturally acquired. He doesn’t like to dwell on how selfish he’s being, and he hates that Suga is so blunt about how he feels. Especially when it’s different. There isn’t a mission he prepares for that he doesn’t wish he could tell Bokuto, _I might not make it home, so let’s make this last._

“You’re welcome to knock on any other medic’s door.” Suga finishes with the tweezers and dabs ointment on the wound with more force than necessary. He wraps it with more bandages, then pushes up from the little cushion on the floor to put away his supplies. “I should warn you that it is nearly four in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it!” Kuroo chirps.

Daichi ignores Kuroo. “Listen, Suga, I appreciate your help, but I know what I’m doing. Can we keep my personal life out of this?”

“I’d rather you kept your thanks for now and cashed them in after you tell Bokuto the truth. I don’t know what you’re so afraid of...punishment? The board doesn’t care what you do, and you know it.”

Daichi is far too tired to explain himself, so he turns on his side, pain be damned. “I’m not talking about this. Not right now, not with you.”

For once, Suga lets him have the last word. Daichi hears Kuroo get up, and then the two go to a different room. They’re talking, but their voices are muffled.

 

He can’t stay here but he dreads returning home, to Bokuto. He’s afraid of his reaction to his injuries, however minor they may seem -- he’s never come home looking like he’s been tussling with a pack of wild dogs.

But on some level, Suga is right.

Daichi sits up and closes his eyes to stave off the waves of dizziness and nausea that roll through him. He gathers his bearings and stands, a herculean feat, and heads for the entryway. He leaves no note of thanks; he just slides on his shoes and grabs one of Kuroo’s jackets, zipping it up to his chin, and it feels like nostalgia.

Once outside, he calls a taxi (his phone somehow survived the fall unscathed), and each minute he gets closer to what will probably, no, inevitably be a very bad breakup.

With all the lies Daichi has stacked up, Bokuto has every right to never trust him again. They’d been together two years, and before that Daichi had been in the military, which Bokuto knows about. It was nothing special, but he’d won some valor awards and was the highest rated member of his company.

The powers-that-be paid him special attention, having him undergo top-secret endurance tests and rigorous tactical training before recommending him to a bodyguard company, the cover for the assassination corps. The government-sanctioned organization hired out to go after the people the government couldn’t catch because they were slick enough to worm their way above the law with money and power.  

He’d met Bokuto while out on a run; he noticed that they had near the same route at the same time, so they started running together, then working out together, and it somehow blossomed into two years, now, of love but even more lies. He’s not a bodyguard but a fucking assassin, and the two, sometimes three-day trips he takes are not to protect someone, but to eliminate a target. Sometimes the only thing he feels is true about himself is his how he feels about Bokuto.

 

III

 

Daichi is surprised when he unlocks the door to their place and pushes the door open. The TV is blaring, and over the top of the couch he can see the tousled mess of hair that belongs to his boyfriend.

He closes the door gently, almost wishing he were invisible, and when the door clicks, Bokuto whips his head around. “Dai? What are you doing here?”

“Bo, it’s after five in the morning. What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Missed you too much.” Bokuto’s eyes glow with feeling, and now that surprise has melted into affection, Daichi can’t take how beautiful he is, sitting there on the couch aching for him.

“I missed you too much, too,” Daichi says, limping forward. He takes four steps when the dizziness returns, and he scrunches his eyes shut with a groan.

Bokuto rushes toward him, and as he gets closer his grin dissolves into a worried grimace. “Dai? What happened?”

Before Daichi slumps against the wall, Bokuto is there lifting him up, and Daichi feels close to tears because of how gentle he’s being, so gentle that the pain itself almost disappears.

He sits him on the couch and then he’s kneeling and flitting around him like a panicked bird, hands roving his body in a frantic search for missing pieces, and they don’t still until they’ve confirmed Daichi is whole. Bokuto takes Daichi’s hands and kisses each finger, and once he finishes he presses his lips to his forehead.

 _This_ is the gentleness he doesn’t deserve.

Bokuto pulls back, and whispers, “Who did this to you? Was there an, um, incident? With someone you were guarding?”

Daichi shakes his head. Bokuto waits patiently for an explanation, giving Daichi time to think and muster up the now-evasive courage that landed him in this position in the first place. He’s afraid, so fucking terrified of losing Bokuto, but he knows Bokuto has every right to the truth and to decide what to do with it, even if it leaves Daichi in a half-empty bed.

“I’ve been hiding something from you.”

Bokuto pales and his eyes widen, but still he waits.

“My job. My job isn’t to guard people.”

“Then what is it?” Bokuto asks softly, and Daichi isn’t sure if he’d rather that he yelled.

Daichi’s hesitation lasts a heartbeat. “I’m an assassin. I...I kill people.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the drops land on his hands, which Bokuto still holds and shows no signs of letting go.

His voice is hollow, though, when he says, “I don’t understand.”

“The company I work for is a cover. All those ‘trips’ I’ve gone on, it’s been to eliminate a target, to put it lightly, or gather intel for the organization.” Daichi pauses, waiting for anger that doesn’t come.

Instead, Bokuto sits back and gets this faraway look in his eyes. “Maybe if I wasn’t so loud, you could have told me your secret. Maybe if I was more trustworthy.”

Daichi leans forward to cup Bokuto’s cheeks. “Koutarou, Koutarou, no, listen to me. It killed me every second I couldn’t tell you the truth, but I don’t care about protocol anymore, not when it means hiding the truth from you. I could have died tonight, and you would have never known what happened to me. It’d be as if I never existed.”

Fat tears spill down Bokuto’s cheeks and Daichi didn’t know it was possible to hate himself this much until this moment. He deserves to be the target of Bokuto’s rage, but instead he’s the reason Bokuto is placing the burden of the blame on himself.

“I also had to protect you. I knew that once I told you, you became a...target. But I realize now that just by being with you I put you with danger, regardless of whether you knew about my contract with the corps.”

Daichi slides off the couch to join Bokuto on the floor, and he pulls him close; no matter how much he believes Bokuto deserves more than a monster’s love, he does not want to let go.

“Kou, I need you to know that _none of this is your fault_ . I lied to you, and you think it’s because _you’re_ not trustworthy, not because _I’m_ a liar? You didn’t do this, Kou, I did. I messed up. You can be angry with me.”

“I can’t be angry with you knowing that you didn’t have a choice.” Bokuto is clinging to him with all the desperation of a man holding fast to a fraying rope.

“I could have left the corps...I should explain everything.”

Daichi had fallen in love with Bokuto but couldn’t give up the corps, so he’d compromised instead and went to the board to double his oath. Agents not only had to swear loyalty to the organization, but if they had partners who weren’t corps members, they also had to swear themselves to secrecy under pain of death.

It was the selfish path, but he was too greedy and the money was too good and he made it work somehow -- they were happy, and he was only gone a few days every couple of weeks. But it still killed him that he left countless times on the promise he’d return home in a few days unscathed, knowing there was always the risk of not coming home at all. He put too much faith in himself and his abilities, and his near death experience spoke to that fact.  

“But I could never be happy knowing I made you change who you are, intentionally or not! To me, it means that you were willing to risk everything, your life even, for this.” Bokuto leans forward to give him a chaste, open-eyed kiss, gold eyes full of tears and trust. His thumbs ghost across Daichi’s knuckles, and Daichi shivers.

Bokuto has always known exactly what to do and say to rouse something in Daichi’s soul that he can only describe as the rarest of loves; he pulls back a fraction and whispers against Daichi’s lips, “Looking back, I would have rather been with you and never known than lost a piece of my soul had you ended it before it even began. I would have gladly made that sacrifice too.”

Daichi crushes Bokuto to him -- he’s just as wild and desperate. “Koutarou, your heart is too big.”

“It’s all for you, babe,” Bokuto murmurs into Daichi’s shoulder. “But what about your ribs?”

Daichi pulls back a little, eyes searching Bokuto’s face. “My ribs? Oh, I -- how could you tell?”

“The way you’ve been carrying yourself. You’re in a lot of pain, Daichi.”

“I am, but I can endure a little pain if it means I still get you hold you close.”

Bokuto squeezes him, his thick arms anchoring them to each other, and somehow it doesn’t hurt at all. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? If I don’t get to blame myself...then you have to believe I wouldn’t leave you for wanting to protect me.”

“I can’t leave you now either,” Daichi grumbles. “You know too much.”

Bokuto barks a laugh. “Dude, what kind of people do they have you go after? Just the really bad ones, right?”

“The corps primarily targets kingpins of the underworld. The assassinations are as inconspicuous as we can make them, with the ultimate goal of eliminating corruption.”

“That sounds so awesome, Dai! I can’t believe I’m dating Batman,” Bokuto says, shaking his head at him fondly.

“Kou, I don’t think Batman k--” Bokuto kisses him, swallowing up his attempt to correct him. When they break apart, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want out?”

“I thought that was obvious,” comes the response from where Bokuto nuzzles into Daichi’s neck. “I really missed you.”

Daichi reflexively moves one of his hands from Bokuto’s back to the back of his head, holding him in place. “You’re such a sap,” he says, but he loves it.

“And you’re not?” Bokuto quips with another laugh.

“Guilty as charged. What’s my punishment?”

“A fuckin’ bath. Let’s go.”

 

IV

 

Bokuto has always been gentle, but the softness in his eyes as he lathers shampoo in Daichi’s hair and soaps him up with feather-light touches is more than Daichi can bare, but he doesn’t let more tears fall until he dunks his head under the shower.

By the time they’re finished, Daichi has been rubbed raw inside and out, and Bokuto pulls him closer to bear the brunt of his weight as they pad through the hallway to their room. Bokuto towels him off quickly, but it’s as if he’s afraid of breaking him.

They dress and climb into bed. Bokuto gives him space to adjust so that he’s not putting pressure on anywhere he’s hurting, settling on hooking their pinkies.

The imprint of his brush with death has not left Daichi, so he quietly recounts the botched mission to Bokuto, who lets him talk without interruption -- though his expressions bely his fear (at how close Daichi had come to being killed in action), anger (once he realizes that Daichi had been set up), and relief (when Daichi tells him about the rescue).

Daichi falls into a dreamless sleep, and the following day, he sends a message to his squad leader requesting a week’s leave to recuperate, which he quickly grants. Daichi doesn’t admit the real reason: he’s scared of leaving Bokuto’s side, having come too close to losing him.

Bokuto takes a week off from coaching kids at the nearby primary school as well, and they huddle on the couch under a blanket during the day, take-out boxes strewn all over the coffee table, only seeking refuge in their bed when they get sick of re-runs.

As much as Daichi complains, Bokuto refuses to make love to him, though he only makes matters worse with kisses that were already intense to begin with, that are now unfathomably deep. He scores Daichi’s thighs with bite-marks and hickeys since his chest is off-limits, but that’s his self-imposed rule, not Daichi’s.

Feeling a little masochistic, Daichi comes close to begging Bokuto to touch him everywhere, but Bokuto shows an uncharacteristic level of restraint, teasing Daichi to the edge with nothing more than his hands, lips, and tongue.

It’s fucking unfair, according to Daichi.

 

V

 

He’s trapped between a glass wall and waves of enemies that press on, pushing him closer to the opaque pane. He runs backward, knives raised to fend off stray attacks, and when he collides with the glass, it doesn’t break. And he doesn’t fall.

He turns his back to the hoard and beats against the glass, his shouts ricocheting off the unyielding surface. Spinning on his heel, his grip on his knives tighten as they get closer, and then one of them, a shadowy thing that’s bigger than the rest, rushes him, and he swipes at it, but before the knife can connect he’s awake, and he’s straddling Bokuto with a blade pressed to his throat.

Bokuto only looks up at him with levelheaded consideration.

Daichi’s panting; a drop of sweat runs down his back that makes him shiver. Bokuto unpins one of his arms from underneath Daichi, moving slowly to wrap his hand around Daichi’s and pry the knife from his hand. He tosses it aside and it clatters against the closet door.

Once the tension leaves Daichi’s body, he slumps and his head hangs low, and Bokuto sits up and scoots back, turning him so that Daichi is pressed to his chest and his back is to the headboard. He kicks aside the covers and shushes Daichi when he tries to speak, to apologize.

He wipes Daichi’s silent tears away and his arms return to their place crossed over Daichi’s chest, and then he starts humming something soft and silly until Daichi finds a more peaceful sleep.

The night after, Bokuto pulls him to his chest with not even enough space for words between them, but his hold isn’t tight enough to trap Daichi if he seeks distance. And he doesn’t.

It’s not because Bokuto is afraid of him; when Daichi woke up pinning Bokuto to the mattress with the edge of his knife against his jugular, he didn’t see an inkling of fear in Bokuto’s eyes. In fear’s place was an infinite, unwavering devotion.

Daichi knows on some fundamental level that Bokuto provides comfort he knows only he can give.

 

VI

 

“How do you join the corps?”

The question catches Daichi so off guard that he drops his spoonful of cereal down the front of his shirt. He splutters some incoherent non-response at Bokuto, who’s standing in front of the sink with his arms crossed.

“Listen though, babe, wouldn’t it make sense for me to join? I could be your partner _and_ they won’t have to kill you.”

“You know they aren’t going to kill me,” Daichi starts, dabbing at the mess he’s made of his clothes. “Because they’re not going to find out that you know, because _I_ know you’re not going to tell a soul. In any case, I’m not telling you anything about the recruitment process. It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t you think the bad guys would be afraid of these guns?” Bokuto isn’t fair; he’s wearing one of Daichi’s tanks, and when he flexes, Daichi can see every plane of his pecs through the thin material, and his arms, his _arms_ , strain against the fabric.

He’s all ripply muscle, and Daichi is a weak man. “Don’t rip my shirt, Bokuto Koutarou. I like that one a lot.” He focuses all his energy on not dropping the spoon again.

“So you admit they’re dangerous?”  
  
“What are?”  
  
“These gunssssss,” Bokuto practically whines. He drops his arms and comes up behind Daichi, and he has to give up on his breakfast because Bokuto’s got him wrapped up in a tight hug.

Daichi arches up into the embrace like a cat, rubbing his cheek against Bokuto’s. The friction is good. “Alright, how about this then.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll teach you some self-defense, since the threat of someone using you to get to me is pretty high anyway.” Daichi rushes through his words; he doesn’t like to think about their meaning too hard. “And once you learn the basics I _might_ consider recommending you to my squad leader. Deal?”

Bokuto nods vigorously; he feels the gravity of what Daichi is offering, and there aren’t really words to express how thankful he is.

 

VII

 

A week and a half into his leave, Daichi feels good enough to push the living room furniture to the walls, lay some mats down, and teach Bokuto how to kick some ass. Defensively.

He also feels good enough for some much-needed intimacy. It’s been around two weeks since he’s had an orgasm, but he’s not about to admit to being needy.

“Plant your leg between mine, like this, and then bring your arm around,” Daichi says, demonstrating on Bokuto. He has Bokuto try to flip him on his back, and when it doesn’t work, he takes a step back.

“Here, I’m gonna do it to you, okay?” He asks. “It’s a basic takedown, so it shouldn’t hurt.”

“Go ahead,” Bokuto says, nodding. If anything, he’s an eager learner. “Show me what you’re made of, Dai.”

Daichi grins. Though only a few inches separate them, he’s the leaner of the two, so it’ll be immensely satisfying to show Bokuto _exactly_ what he’s made of.

He has Bokuto drop into a mid-crouch, and then he moves. In less than a blink, Bokuto is pinned underneath him, and he tries not to think about the last time they were in this position.

Bokuto swallows, darkened eyes wide and alert. “Wow, Daichi, that was insane.”

“There’s no room,” Daichi says, lifting himself up so that he hovers over Bokuto, “for hesitation.”

Reaching for Daichi’s hips, Bokuto pulls him down so that their bodies are flush against each other. Daichi’s cheeks color, and Bokuto yanks him down by his shirt so that they’re close enough for their breath to mix.

“Babe, you’re really fucking hot like this, all assassin-y and shit,” he groans.

Daichi falls headlong into the kiss, and it’s so much of what he needs that he almost lets it deepen to the point of no return.

Bokuto foresees his decision to pull back, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. It makes a little wet pop as he pulls away, and he growls a complaint as Daichi sits back with his arms crossed.  

“That was the most basic of techniques, Kou. You haven’t really seen much yet.”

“Show me more, please?” The pout Bokuto’s sporting is admittedly, extremely cute.

“I can’t do that if you’re trying to seduce me,” Daichi retorts. “I thought you said you wanted to wait until I was fully healed.”

“I can’t exactly help it, since you’re sweaty and ready and on top of me.”

“Alright, then,” Daichi says, getting up. “Your turn. And what the hell does ‘ready’ even mean?”

He offers Bokuto his hand, which was his first mistake. Bokuto makes as if to take it and haul himself off the ground, but he pulls Daichi down so that their former position is reversed: Bokuto on top, with Daichi pinned beneath him.

Daichi realizes his second mistake a quickened heartbeat after. He really, really wants Bokuto. Badly. "It seems,” he pants, “that you're a natural."

“I meant it, Dai, when I said you looked really good on top of me. But I like you better underneath me.”

It’s everything Daichi’s been craving when Bokuto leans to nuzzle at his neck before biting down gently, tongue laving over the spot as his hands travel up Daichi’s shirt to fondle his chest. He gasps, and it’s as if he’s grown more sensitive where Bokuto hasn’t touched him since he was injured. Every millimeter Bokuto’s hands travel takes him closer to the bliss he desires.

Bokuto locks their hips together, rolling over Daichi slowly, eliciting a moan when they brush against each other. Daichi arches his back off the mat to get closer, to press against Bokuto as much as he can. Clothing poses no challenge -- rather, it provides more of the friction that leaves Daichi breathless.

Daichi runs his hands over the broadness of Bokuto’s chest, fingers tracing the hills and valleys of his physique in adoration. He says Bokuto’s name over and over again, and between the writhing of hips and the hand that moves to stroke Daichi through his shorts, he feels a tightness below his stomach -- he’s so far gone he can’t think of anything else but how good Bokuto feels everywhere they’re touching.

“Fuck, Kou-Koutarou,” he breathes. When the wave washes over him he bites into Bokuto’s shoulder as he guides him through it, and they collapse against the mat in a sweaty embrace.

Acutely aware of the stickiness in his shorts, made more obvious by Bokuto’s weight, Daichi nudges him and he rolls to the side. As soon as Bokuto’s flat on the floor next to him, Daichi scrambles up to straddle him.  

“I love you, Kou.” The faint blush dusting Bokuto’s cheeks is so kissable that Daichi has to close his eyes.

“Dai! I love you too. Are you still...?”

“I’m fine for now, but would you let me...reciprocate?” Daichi lowers his lids and scoots back to tug at the waistband of Bokuto’s shorts. He wants to wreck Bokuto and watch him fall to pieces.

“I hope that ‘for now’ means there’s a ‘later,’” Bokuto purrs.

Daichi wrangles Bokuto’s shorts to his ankles, languidly jerking him off as he responds. “It’s about time you caved in.”

“You're my only weakness.”

“Don’t be silly.” Daichi’s words are muffled against Bokuto’s skin. Bokuto gasps when he grips his hips to hold him down and draws him into his mouth, humming around him in encouragement. This has always been his favorite way to please Bokuto, he thinks, sinking him to the hilt.  

There’s the firm yielding of the hands fisted in his hair. Bokuto pulls at the dark strands, but Daichi moves as he wishes, in full control of the tempo, the amount of drag, and how long he spends tonguing the tip. Bokuto’s grip is tight but unassertive, an implicit expression of trust.

Then there’s the softness of his forgiveness when Daichi grazes him with too much teeth. His legs twitch on either side of him in response to Daichi’s unspoken apology: the pressure he adds by sucking in his cheeks. “That’s perfect, Dai, just like that,” he murmurs, lingering at each syllable.

Finally, there’s the way his voice breaks on Daichi’s name as he spills in his mouth with the shallow thrusts that he can’t contain (that Daichi doesn’t mind, not at all).

He hasn’t even swallowed before Bokuto’s crushing his lips to Daichi’s, but he makes haste so he can tangle their tongues together.

“You’re so so good, Daichi,” Bokuto says once he breaks away, voice all husky and sexed-out.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Daichi teases. “You, uh, wanna redeem that ‘for now’ or ‘later’ or whatever it was?”

Daichi takes Bokuto’s hurriedness in getting him to the bedroom as the “yes” he seeks.

**Author's Note:**

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